


Two Years Experience

by Waynesgrayson



Series: It's in the Job Description [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7782712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw isn't the only one with a regular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Years Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Watched a re-run last night, got the urge to write another one.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

 

He hears her fooling around behind him, but has resigned himself to the fact that it's best to not look. If he doesn't see it, he has deniability.

Things are better off this way.

It's mid-afternoon. The store is unusually quiet though he suspects that's due to the fact it's a Tuesday.

If he does see anyone, it's usually another employee or someone who's not really looking to buy suit, and are killing time before getting to where they actually need to go.

It used to bother him, whenever it was dead and quiet. Made his lip twitch and his finger tap. It still bothers him sometimes, but it's easier with the right company.

“How do I look?”

Harold frowns has he turns around, a little worried about what he'll see. If a bored Harold is antsy, a bored Miss Shaw is usually ridiculous.

He's greeted to the sight of Miss Shaw wearing a dark purple and blue pinstripe waistcoat that's a few sizes too big, with a perfectly tied bow-tie around her neck, over top her work dress.

She's looking at him with mock expectancy, eyebrow raised in challenge as she stands before him.

To say something, anything.

To not say anything.

To pretend he disapproves of it.

He remembers when she was first hired, how unnerved he had been by her presence. Baffled by how she kept the job for longer than two days, more than annoyed with her less than caring attitude, and a bit put-off by her silent and deadly demeanour. It didn't take much to understand not to mess with her, but when she rolled her eyes and blinded customers momentarily with a careless spritz of perfume, it was easy to forget.

How she would slink over in non-work regulated shoes and lean against his counter; not to speak but to simply loom. He found out very early on that she enjoyed making him, people, anyone squirm. Snaking beside him with her ever-calm voice and childish quips, her mouth quirked up in amusement.

He never understood it, not then. They never had what could be considered a real conversation besides his simple pleasantries and her nods. They weren't friends.

Yet, every shift they shared she would make her way over and, eventually, he came to expect and enjoy her company, feeling oddly alone when they didn't share a shift.

He remembers the first time she spilled food on the counter, how she stilled and looked oddly embarrassed about it. How the store was dead and quiet and she was once again hell-bent on standing in his department instead of her own, for no apparent reason.

How all he could think about was how dangerously close it came to landing on his cuff.

How it made him laugh until he thought he could cry, asking her why on earth she had such a monstrosity in the makeup and suit department.

She had simply shrugged, taking another messy bite, but her eyes shone with amusement, and that was that.

Back in the present, Harold's frown twists in an effort to hide his amusement. He presses his lips in a stiff line, and does his best to look thoroughly unimpressed.

“Please refrain from playing with the merchandise, Miss Shaw. This isn't dress-up.”

In response she snickers and pulls on the ends of the tie, walking up beside him. She leans against the counter, crossing her arms.“I'm bored.”

He looks at her with narrowed eyes, “You have a lineup of customers in need of your attention.”

Which was very true. She isn't the only one working the makeup counter, but she is most definitely needed over there. A small queue of four people stood before one employee and while she didn't look panicked or even bothered, Miss Shaw was certainly expected to go help.

“Yeah, well, maybe they should fire me and hire someone who actually gives a crap.”

He turns his gaze turns back to the store, unable to help the small smile.

“So,” he says, going for subtle and missing by a mile, “Miss Groves is a no-show, then?”

She elbows him none too gently, and if he didn't know her as well as he does now, he would have sworn she growled at him, but he knows full-well that she did.

“Shut it.”

“Well, all right. But, if it's any consolation, I'm positive she'd be here if she could,” he says sincerely.

Shaw blinks and glances at him out of the corner of her eye. She's quite for a moment, before turning fully to him with a cocked eyebrow and a shark like grin. He should have known this wasn't a victory.

“How's John, mhm? Haven't seen him around in a while.”

His lip twitches. She notices.

“Oh yeah, you thought you could just bring up 'Miss Groves',” she mocks with an upturn of her nose, “ and not get retaliation. Dream on, Finch.”

Her eyes are bright as his lips pinch together, but he meets her stare dead on.

They could go back and forth all day, and they have before. He's pretty certain they're the reason why only certain employees now get walkies-talkies and not all. It wasn't mentioned when the change was implemented, but they both were pointedly not given one. Not one of his proudest moments, but it had admittedly been fun.

A cough breaks up their staring contest, and Harold is sure in the fact that they're about to be wrung up by their boss yet again for not doing their jobs.

He swore he was a model employee before Miss Shaw's starting.

But, much to Harold's embarrassment and Shaw's amusement, it isn't their boss.

“Am I interrupting something?” Mr Reese asks, eyebrow rasied as he regards both of them.

“Oh no, not at all,” Miss Shaw says, giving him a blatant once over before moving out from behind the counter. She stands beside the other man and pins Harold with a look he pretends he doesn't understand, “In fact, I have customers in dire need of my attention.”

She leaves, still dressed in the waistcoat and bow tie, wagging her eyebrows at Harold from over her shoulder as she makes her way back to the makeup counter. He wonders briefly how long it will take for her to be caught and for their boss to talk with her about the outfit. But, considering how long she'd been away from her duties, he has a small suspicion she may just get away with it.

As always, Mr Reese is quiet, standing perfectly still yet somehow casual as he waits for Harold to collect himself. Harold curses the dead-give away of his mortification, knowing full well his ears and cheeks are a bright red. But, he supposes there's nothing he can do about it, and squares his shoulders.

“Same as last time, Mr Reese?” Harold asks, finally being the professional he knows he is.

Mr Reese purses his lips, flicking through one of the several photo books sitting on the front counter. He looks up at Harold from under his eyelashes, and Harold has a feeling the man knows exactly the kind of reaction that move gets from people.

Harold likes to think he's immune despite his attraction to the man.

“Actually, I was thinking of doing something a little different this time,”the man says, closing the book with a finger.

Harold nods. “Very well, what is it you have in mind?” he asks, already looking around at the different fabrics and designs all around them. He grabs a book from his side of the counter and begins leafing through it, suggesting fabrics and types.

Mr Reese reaches out, effectively stopping Harold's ministrations without touching him. Harold stares at the hand, decidedly unsure what to make of it.

“Think you're up for the challenge?” Mr Reese questions with a slight tilt of his head, challenging Harold close to the same way Miss Shaw does almost every day, yet completely different. His eyes are old and worn, tired, something Harold had noticed right away about the man aside from the glaringly obvious. But they're also bright and warm and Harold finds himself wanting to take his hand.

“I believe so, Mr Reese.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this will go anywhere, but hey, it was fun!
> 
> Not beta read.
> 
> https://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/


End file.
